Rock-Paper-Scissors
by catty-cat-cat
Summary: The very first time Holmes hears about Rock-Paper-Scissors game, and is cunning enough to overcome Watson on this game, especially when it comes to daily chores. One-shot, new author, first fic, no flames. Care to RnR?


**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes.**

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It was a nice day back in 1896. Dr. John Watson was sitting on his armchair, reading a novel peacefully in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street. His best friend, Sherlock Holmes, said that he had a business in the Scotland Yard and would be back shortly.

Watson was in the climax of the story. He was about to turn another page when said best friend slammed the sitting room door open.

"Watson! I heard that there is a new challenging game!" Holmes hollered.

The doctor jumped when the sleuth barged in. Watson took a moment to process the information he was given. He blinked a few times, and all he could say was, "huh?"

"There is a new game, challenging game that had ever been made! Do you want to know?" Holmes inquired.

Watson sweat-dropped. "Do I really want to know?" he inquired himself.

"It's called 'Rock, Paper, and Scissors'," Holmes said. "The way it plays is like this."

Holmes grabbed the two of Watson's arms and lifted him up from his armchair, face-to-face with the sleuth. They faced each other for a good five seconds before Holmes explained. "First, we face each other like this, and shape one hand into a fist shape. Both of us must move our fists up and down three times while saying together 'rock, paper, scissors'. Do not touch each other; this motion is performed entirely up and down in the air in front of us."

Watson nervously shaped his hand into a fist. "Okay."

"Let's try this part," Holmes suggested.

They moved their fists up and down three times whilst cried "Rock, paper, scissors". Both men practiced this move before Watson looked up at the fifth attempt. "And then?" he inquired.

"Make a gesture on the third count," Holmes explained. "There are three gestures, which you can choose up to you: the first is a rock—it is a closed fist like this; the second is a paper—a flat, opened hand; the third is scissors—index and middle fingers extended like this." Whilst explaining, Holmes practiced all the gestures he told Watson.

Watson practiced the moves—the paper, the rock, and the scissors—then looked up. "Easy enough," said he. "Then?"

"Figure out if you won," Holmes said. "Rock smashed scissors, paper covered rock, and scissors cut paper."

Watson beamed. This game was incredibly easy. Surely he would win. "Well, this looks pretty easy. Why don't we try this?"

Holmes' lips lifted up into a somewhat sly smirk. "If you insist."

They prepared themselves before moving their fists up and down three times. "Rock, paper, scissors!"

_Holmes: paper_

_Watson: rock_

"I won!" Holmes cried out as he covered Watson's rock with his hand. "One point for myself!"

Watson splattered. "Wait—I wasn't' ready yet!"

"Nonsense, Watson," Holmes smirked. "If you wished to try this, you should have prepared yourself before."

Watson groaned. "Fine, another round."

**Round 2**

"Rock, paper, scissors!"

_Holmes: scissors—win_

_Watson: paper—lose_

**Round 3**

_Holmes: rock_

_Watson: rock_

"Wait, we both gesture the rock—what is this, a tie?" Watson inquired.

Holmes hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe so," said he.

"Should we try again?"

"Until one of us wins."

They both prepared themselves, moving their fists up and down three times. "Rock, paper, scissors!"

_Holmes: rock_

_Watson: scissors_

"Another point for me!" Holmes cried out. Watson groaned, frustrated with the game.

**Round 4**

_Holmes: paper—win_

_Watson: rock—lose_

**Round 5**

_Holmes: scissors—win_

_Watson: paper—lose_

**Round 6**

_Holmes: rock—win_

_Watson: scissors—lose_

"Holmes, this is insane!" Watson cried out of frustration. "Why do I always lose?! At least give me a chance to win!"

Holmes chuckled. So far he had collected six points. "Oh, nonsense. A soldier must not beg for a chance to win."

"But you always win—that's not really fair, you know," Watson countered.

Holmes shrugged. "All is fair in war," he simply said.

Watson sighed loudly as he could. He retreated from the game with a shame and sat back on his armchair, with Holmes doing the same. He took his forgotten novel and said something that would make him regret in his life. "If we ever decide to do something with this way, then I will always end up doing the chores."

There was a silence—Holmes lit up his pipe and smoked joyously with the victory, the statement Watson muttered lingered in his head. A moment or two, Holmes sprang up from his armchair, beaming. "Of course!" he cried out.

Watson turned to him. "Of course what?"

"I say, what if we use this game to decide whose turn to do something, like you said?" Holmes inquired. "That way, we won't have to argue about whose turn to do anything."

Watson stared at Holmes' beaming face before widening his eyes in realisation. He slapped his forehead. "Oh, for heaven's sake, why did I say that?"

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The kitchen was a mess. Holmes had been intending to make themselves dinner since Mrs. Hudson was away. Watson had warned him, but Holmes did not listen. He approached the kitchen and started the stove. All Watson could do was giving up and waiting for Holmes to come back—either with the dinner or not. Though Watson doubted that even if Holmes returned with the dinner, the meal would be edible. They could have dinner outside if the sleuth did not succeed.

Holmes did return some time later, with half of his face and hair covered in white flour and the white apron he wore did not look any good. There was a smell of burned cooking, and Watson immediately deduced that Holmes was failed in cooking the dinner.

Watson was about to suggest that they could have dinner outside when Holmes pointed out that "the kitchen was in a fine condition". Of course, Watson could blatantly see that this was a huge lie ever made by Holmes. The doctor desired to have a look at the kitchen whilst the sleuth tried to prevent him from doing so. Though Holmes did his best, both men eventually made their way downstairs.

Peeking through the doorway was two heads, one of them was thoroughly shocked, and the other was a bit nervous, though he tried to hide it with a poker face. What they saw was a huge mess that made Watson thought it would send the two of them kicked out of the flat. It would be best if he did not know what Holmes had been doing whilst cooking in the room once was called the kitchen.

"Please tell me you're going to pay for all of this," Watson sighed.

"I, uh ..."

"No, really. Please tell me you're going to pay for this."

"Uhm, what if I say no?"

"Then I shall force you to do it."

"You cannot simply force your friend to pay for this mess."

"Yes, I can. It is both your fault and for your sake."

"Really, now? Who was complaining about Mrs. Hudson's departure? Who was complaining about not having dinner?"

"I've warned you about the kitchen! It's not my fault!"

"On the contrary, Watson. Half of it is you fault."

"How come?"

"You were complaining."

"That doesn't mean it's all my fault!"

"I did not say that all this is your fault."

"You admit it? I'm surprised."

"Oh, now you're being ridiculous. You were complaining, I suggested making ourselves a dinner. Half of it is your fault."

"Are you suffering from amnesia? I strictly remember that I've warned you about the kitchen and your poor skill at cooking. You did not listen! Whose fault is that?"

Holmes was silent for a moment. "... But you were complaining ..." he added timidly.

Watson tried to hold the urge not to rush to the sitting room, took Holmes' index, and throw it onto his thick skull. Holmes was quiet because he knew Watson was right all along. He just did not want to admit. That, and he also did not want to waste most of his money to pay for this mess.

Watson took a deep breath to calm himself down and turned at the kitchen. "If you said that half of it is my fault, whose fault is the other half?"

"Mine?" Holmes replied uncertainly.

"And what are you going to do about it?" Watson asked, gesturing to the mess.

"Keeping it a secret?"

Watson stared at Holmes flatly. "Really, Holmes?"

"Why don't we do 'Rock-Paper-Scissors' to determine whose fault this is? The loser will have to pay for this mess."

The doctor almost choked on his own saliva. _Not again!_ He thought. "No, I refuse. One small mistake could cause a big problem. This is definitely your fault and I do not want to be a part of it."

"You said that because you can't win," Holmes teased.

"Did not! I said that because it is the truth."

"Or you just do not want to admit that you're a loser on this game."

"Holmes ..." Watson warned, giving the sleuth a dangerous look.

"Oh, come now, Watson!" Holmes urged. "You never knew when it comes to luck! Maybe this time you will win! Who knows, maybe the goddess of fortune is in your side now. I may have overcome you in this game before—who knows this time you will win?"

Watson was quiet for a moment. He thought about this twice before he nervously prepared his fest. Holmes did the same. And with that, they cried out, "Rock, paper, scissors!"

_Holmes: paper_

_Watson: rock_

"Oops," Holmes chided in.

The next thing Holmes did was dashing into his bedroom, locking himself, and hiding inside his closet, nervously waiting for the lion to pounce at him.

Perhaps Watson was not too lucky that day.

Well, look at the bright side. Holmes' supposed burden was now on Watson's shoulder. It was a good thing, right?

"_Sherlock Holmes! Get back here!__ I will not fix anything you've caused!_" roared the doctor.

Or so he thought.

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The End

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**A/N:**

**Hello, everyone. I'm a new author here, and this is my very first one-shot Sherlock Holmes fic. I know that rock-paper-scissors game is introduced in the 20th century. So just assume that Holmes heard this game from a Chinese merchant when he passed by.**

**Rock-paper-scissors game was actually created in China, then imported to Japan. In the 17th century, Japan used the rock, paper, and scissors signs, and ****have**** been most common since the modern version of the game was created in the late 19th century. The game seems to have arrived in Europe in the early 20th century and to have become popular by the late 1920s. In Britain in 1924 it was described in a letter to a newspaper as a hand game, possibly of Mediterranean origin, called "zhot".**

**At least that is what wikipedia says. For further information, please check wikipedia.**

**If there's any grammar error or typo, please inform me via review or PM.**

**Review?**


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